


Switched

by Atisenia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Holiday, Humor, M/M, Tumblr: letswritesherlock, barcelona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is having a hard time in Barcelona until a stranger, that might or might not be a serial killer, knocks on his hotel door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switched

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short, light fill for Let's Write Sherlock's [Challenge 20](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/117205667610/lets-write-sherlock-challenge-20-time-to-get)

John opened the door to his hotel room and limped to the bed. He had been in Barcelona for half a day and he already felt exhausted. When his sister bailed on him at the last minute, he thought he was going to have a peaceful holiday in this charming little city that everyone seemed to be so in love with. Somehow, though, he ended up in this bloody metropolis that was overflowing with tourists who had no consideration for a crippled ex-soldier with a bad temper. The simple walk up and down the famous La Rambla took him almost two hours and John was more than ready to call it a day.

He crouched awkwardly by the bed and pulled out the ridiculous suitcase he borrowed from Harry. His army bag would have done just fine, but Harry had other ideas.

“It’s a bonding experience,” she had said. “It's a family trip,“ she had said. “So let me do something nice for my family.”

Of course then she ditched him as soon as she found a new girlfriend who didn’t mind her drinking, so that was it for any potential family bonding. But the suitcase stayed.

John grumbled while opening the posh monstrosity and then stared in shock at its contents. There was a neatly folded black suit that probably cost more than every item of John’s clothing combined. There were also two expensive looking shirts and a collection of socks sorted in some strange manner.

John was reasonably sure this was not his suitcase. Mostly because there was a fucking human skull in there. But also because of all the blood samples and human hair and a bloody knife in a plastic bag. It looked like a suitcase of a serial killer.

And John just wanted his fucking pyjamas.

He closed the suitcase with a resigned sigh and sat heavily on the bed clenching and unclenching his fist. This trip was a disaster.

Although actually the prospect of a serial killer coming to get his suitcase back brightened John’s mood considerably. Which was probably a sign of how touched in the head he really was.

Someone knocked on his door. John tensed for just a second and then a familiar sense of calm overtook him. He was on his feet in an instant and crossed the distance to his door on light feet.

“Who’s there?” he asked, keeping his voice as pleasant as possible.

“I have your dinner, _señor_ ,” a lovely baritone answered him with what might or might not be a Spanish accent. John had never had an ear for languages.

“I didn’t order dinner,” John stated, trying to sound confused. His fingers twitched with the need to hold his gun or even his cane but he left it by the bed.

“Are you not John Watson?” the man on the other side of the door asked, equally confused. His pronunciation was just that tiny bit off as to be convincing and John frowned. Either there was some honest mistake or he was a fantastic actor.

He was better off assuming the latter.

“No, that’s me,” John said, picking up a lamp from a dresser by the door. “But I still didn’t order dinner.”

The man muttered to himself in what sounded like Spanish, but could just as well be Italian for all John knew.

“Sir, please can you open the door and we will talk about this?” the man asked, sounding worried, maybe even panicked.

John just smirked and opened the door, the hand holding the lamp raised and ready to strike. The man on the other side looked every bit a hotel boy right until the moment he dropped the act and fixed John with the most intense look he’d ever been subjected to. John felt like these strangely sharp eyes could strip him bare and learn all his secrets. He reciprocated with a look of his own.

The man was taller than John, with a mop of dark locks. He was a little too skinny and clad in a cheap uniform provided by the hotel. His pose, however, was incongruous with his disguise, which could only mean he was the owner of the suitcase. John was grudgingly impressed by how fast the man found him. He tightened his grip on the lamp.

After a tense moment, the man grinned like a panther who spotted its prey.

“Oh, you’re not boring at all,” he said, delighted, dropping the fake accent.

John frowned and adjusted his stance, which did him no good when the man just barged past him into the room.

“Hey!” John called after him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Splendid! I see you have my suitcase,” the man said and started rummaging in it, searching for God only knew what. John kept his eyes fixed on him and the lamp gripped tightly in his hand. “Aha!” the man exclaimed triumphantly, holding up a plastic bag that contained a pocket watch covered in blood. He produced another one from his coat pocket and compared it to the first one. They looked exactly the same.

John blinked at him.

"What the bleeding hell?" he asked.

The man grinned at him.

"Exactly," he said with an excited air about him. He stood up with the grace of a cat and disappeared in the bathroom.

John gaped after him but the moment of respite gave him the chance to compose himself. When the man re-emerged from the bathroom, John was waiting for him with crossed arms and his best Captain Watson glare.

"You are going to explain yourself," he said in a calmly threatening voice. "And you're going to do it now."

The man's eye twitched with a strange emotion and he smirked.

"Or what, Doctor?" he asked, mocking. "You're going to incapacitate me with that lamp?"

He motioned to the lamp John still held in his hand.

"Believe me, I would need far less than that," John told him and narrowed his eyes. "How do you know I'm a doctor?"

"Oh please!" The man had the gall to actually roll his eyes.

"I want to know."

The man fixed him with another one of his intense stares. This time John was more than ready for it and didn't even flinch. The man smirked.

"There were medical journals in your suitcase," he said.

John frowned.

"This proves nothing. I could be an enthusiast."

"True," the man said with a peculiar quirk of his ridiculous lips. "But there was also a first aid kit, much better equipped than the standard issued ones. I would risk a guess that you assembled it yourself: complete with stitches and such a variety of prescription medication that it could not possibly all be for you." He raised an eyebrow and John pursed his lips defensively. "Then there are your hands. You keep them meticulously clean; your nails are clipped short and kept spotless, probably out of habit since you haven't been able to find a job in the past few months. Your hands are remarkably steady; a fine quality for a doctor, though it could also be that you're an excellent marksman. You certainly know how to use a gun judging by the calluses on your fingers. I can read your military career just as plainly." John blinked at him and had to force his jaw not to hang open. This was not what he'd been expecting. "Then there's also the fact that you aimed that lamp you're still holding so that it would knock me out in the most efficient way, adjusting quickly when you saw how tall I am. Doctors make terrifying killers; all that knowledge of anatomy and the body's weakest points...” he trailed off, giving John a meaningful look. John tried not to fidget. “You also noticed my weight, which, I assure you, is of no concern to me and most certainly not to you."

John stood transfixed by the rapid-fire observations about his life, given to him by this clever man that might be a serial killer. If he was, John was not surprised he had not been caught yet.

"Brilliant," he breathed, only realizing he said it out loud when the word was already in the air.

The man flinched in shocked surprise that was quickly covered by a careful blankness.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Of course! You knew all these things just by looking. That's amazing!"

The man blinked at him and his mouth twitched.

"That's not what people normally say," he admitted.

"And what would that be?"

"Piss off!" the man said and raised an eyebrow. John giggled at that and threw all caution to the wind.

"John Watson," he said, extending his hand.

The man eyed it with a frown but decided to shake it anyway.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said and looked back to John's face. "Consulting detective."

"Ah," John said. Not a serial killer then. "That makes sense. Is that how you found me? With the... observing thing?"

Sherlock's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"You could say that," he said. John sent him a questioning look. "Well, your suitcase had a tag with your name, though I suppose Harry must be your brother, possibly father or cousin, but brother's more likely..."

The man, Sherlock, trailed off and John sent him a smirk of his own.

"Sister," he said with no small amount of satisfaction at Sherlock's tightening jaw. "Harry's short for Harriet."

"Sister," Sherlock echoed with a hiss. He looked annoyed but whether at John or himself, John couldn’t tell. "Anyway, you marked the hotel you're staying at on a map, along with some major tourist traps." He grimaced at that. "After I knew where to look and for whom, the rest was entirely too easy."

John opened his mouth to say something to that, but the only thing that came out was another giggle.

"Right," he said, avoiding looking at Sherlock's confused expression for fear of another laughing fit. "I suppose that's fair then." He risked a glance and pursed his lips. "Tourist traps?" he asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed at the same time, which was an impressive feat.

"Well, if you want to stand in a queue in front of Sagrada Família for three hours, pay a ridiculously high fee to enter and then wait another hour or two inside by the lift, then that's your prerogative," he said, distaste clear in his voice. John's leg twitched at the mere mention of the queue and he had to sit down on the bed. He was rather annoyed that his stupid brain decided to remind him he was supposed to be a cripple right after he managed to forget about it.

"Well then, genius," he muttered. "I suppose you have a better way of spending your time in Barcelona?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and fixed John with a contemplative look.

"There was a murder in Parc Güell," Sherlock said, coming to a decision. John frowned, baffled by the apparent change of subject. "The method and the choice of victim is too similar to an unsolved murder mystery in London to be purely coincidental. The local police is equally idiotic as in England, so there's no hope for an assistant..."

He looked meaningfully at John, who blinked and needed two tries to actually get the words out.

"Wait," he said. "You want me to come help you catch a serial killer?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, you did have Parc Güell marked on that map of yours..." Sherlock said, as if he was actually proposing a great tourist attraction and John let out another giggle.

"You're ridiculous," he said with a grin.

"Mm... just bored," Sherlock retorted but his lips twitched with hidden amusement.

John snorted and looked at the pocket watches Sherlock still held in his hands.

"I suppose these are from the crime scene?" he said and frowned. "How did you get them? Shouldn't they be with the other evidence?"

"I—" Sherlock cleared his throat. "I borrowed them from the police." There was a glint in his eyes that held a promise of danger that John could not resist. "Coming?" Sherlock asked and marched out of the hotel room.

John smirked and followed behind.

Later, after they chased the murderer through a labyrinth — an _actual_ labyrinth, though perhaps on a small side — got lost in the convoluted maze of Barri Gòtic _twice_ and ran across the fountain on Plaça de Catalunya to get the bastard before he entered the metro station on Passeig de Gràcia, John had to admit that it was probably the best holiday he'd ever had. His limp was but a distant memory, overwhelmed as it was by the adrenaline surge in his veins, he had a promise of a new beautiful partnership upon his return to London, and Sherlock's hotel room was much nicer than his own, with a giant bathtub, soft sheets and two identical suitcases lying under the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Places mentioned in the fic:  
> [La Rambla](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Rambla,_Barcelona)  
> [Sagrada Família](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sagrada_Fam%C3%ADlia). It's an impressive church, there's no doubt about it, and if you have a chance, go and see it. But the queues are unfortunately long, so if you're going in the summer, think about going in the morning (it opens at 9 a.m.) or take a lot of water with you.  
> [Parc Güell](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Park_G%C3%BCell)  
> [Parc del Laberint d'Horta](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parc_del_Laberint_d%27Horta) \- yes, there is a labyrinth there. There are also fewer tourists.  
> [Barri Gòtic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothic_Quarter,_Barcelona)  
> [Plaça de Catalunya](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pla%C3%A7a_de_Catalunya,_Barcelona)  
> [Passeig de Gràcia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Passeig_de_Gr%C3%A0cia,_Barcelona)  
> Barcelona does have many beautiful places but they're often located in very different parts of the city. And it's a big city. There's a metro system, but after three days of constantly rushing everywhere, exhaustion sets in. What I'm trying to say is: plan your trips wisely and always assume there will be other tourists.;)  
> And, after that no doubt necessary note, I leave you be. If someone would like to say hello (can be in Catalan), find me on [tumblr](http://atisenia.tumblr.com).;)


End file.
